


The Loft: Redemption

by ButterflyMama78



Category: The Loft (2014)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Forced Abortion, Past Infidelity, Past Sexual Abuse, Redemption, Sexual Abuse, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyMama78/pseuds/ButterflyMama78
Summary: Sam Monroe moved to the city to start a new life for herself, to finally put behind her the horrors of her past.  Against her cousin's wishes she applies for and lands a job as an administrative assistant for Vincent Stevens, the architect who fell from grace when his former lover was murdered and his extramarital affairs exposed two years prior.Vin is struggling to rebuild his reputation, both personal and professional.  When Sam comes along to interview for the assistant position he finds himself struggling with the old Vincent Stevens.  He tries to keep the work relationship between them cold and strictly professional despite his instant attraction to her, he's fought too hard to get where he is now.  But as Sam proves her worth he finds himself falling for her.What will happen when he learns about her past?
Relationships: Vincent Stevens/OFC
Comments: 20
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Loft, Vincent Stevens, or other characters from the movie. I only own my OCs and my story arc.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Sam is a survivor of sex abuse. The abuse is mentioned or alluded to throughout the story but will be detailed later on. There will be mentions of abortion and attempted suicide as well.  
> PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS WILL TRIGGER YOU.

“I really wish you would reconsider this, Sam,” Kenna Wilson glared at her cousin as she walked up to her in the lobby. “There are a hundred other jobs in KC.”

“Jobs that won’t pay enough to make the commute worthwhile, or jobs I’m overqualified for,” Samantha Monroe reminded the blonde. “Kenna, I need this job, stop trying to convince me not to do this!” She headed to the bank of elevators and pressed the call button. “This is a half hour drive from my apartment, and I am more than qualified for this position.”

“Sam—” Kenna dropped her head in defeat when one of the elevators arrived and the door slid open. She sighed heavily as she stepped into the car behind her cousin. “I don’t want you working for him.”

“I know, Ken,” Sam turned to face her. “I know how you feel about him, but I’ve never met him. You know I’m not about to judge a person based on second- or third-hand knowledge without getting to know them.”

“You’re making a mistake,” the other woman muttered. 

“It’s my choice,” the brunette shrugged. “Kenna, please, I need you to support me on this.”

“Sam, the turnover in his office with administrative assistants has become legendary. He’s lost six assistants over the past twelve months!”

“You’ve harped on that for a week, Kenna,” Sam sighed. “But you haven’t told me the reason or reasons why.”

“He’s a bastard,” her blonde cousin answered quietly. “He’s cold, he’s demanding…”

Sam leveled Kenna with a look. “You forget, I’ve dealt with that my entire life,” she reminded the blonde. “I can handle cold and demanding.”

“But can you handle devastatingly handsome and brooding?” Kenna lifted her brow. “The man’s nothing but trouble, Sam.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said softly. “Everyone deserves a chance, unless they’re murderers, rapists, child abusers, child molesters, or animal abusers.”

“This right here,” Kenna whispered as the elevator slowed to stop at the eighth floor. “This is why I do not want you to work for him. You have a penchant for wanting to help lost causes, and he’s definitely a lost cause.”

“So am I,” Sam pointed out in a low voice.

“No, Sweetie…” 

The doors slid open, interrupting Kenna’s argument, an argument she didn’t want to continue in front of witnesses on the eighth floor lobby. Instead she nodded her hellos to the three women at the reception desk, introduced her cousin and headed down the hall to VMS Architecture, LLC’s office and conference suite.

She opened the door and led Sam inside. “Good morning, Linda,” she greeted the older woman behind the secretary’s desk with a warm smile. “I’d like you to meet my cousin, Samantha Monroe.”  
Linda McIntyre stood up and rounded the desk to shake Sam’s hand. “It’s nice to finally be able to put a face to the name of the young lady I’ve been talking with,” she smiled warmly. “Mr. Stevens is in a last-minute meeting downstairs but he should be back up soon. He told me to ask if you’d need to reschedule your interview and apologizes if that’s the case.”

Sam shook her head, “No need to reschedule, I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, other than lunch with Kenna and cleaning my apartment.”

“All right,” Linda nodded. 

Sam turned to Kenna. “Wish me luck, Ken?”

The blonde hugged her cousin tight. “If this is really what you want, I’ll support you,” she whispered. “Be careful with him.”

Sam nodded, hugging back. “Thank you.” She noticed Linda watching the exchange with a slightly concerned look but ignored it as she said good-bye to Kenna.

“Would you like coffee or a cinnamon roll?” Linda offered with a smile.

She smiled back, relaxing in the older woman’s presence. “I’m not a fan of coffee,” she admitted. “And I’m so nervous I’m afraid if I ate something I’d probably throw up all over the place and bomb the interview.”

“You don’t look nervous, Samantha,” she assured her, frowning at Sam’s flinch.

“Just Sam, please,” the brunette requested. “My stomach is in knots right now.”

“Interviews can be nerve-wracking,” Linda acquiesced. “Mr. Stevens is all bark, no bite, and if you ask me I believe you have this cinched, he was very impressed with your resume and references.”

Sam blushed. “I hope so,” she whispered.

Linda moved away from her and walked over to the small refrigerator behind her desk. She grabbed a bottle of water and returned to Sam’s side. “Here you go,” she offered the water to her. “Right this way,” she led her to the door to her left and flipped on the light. “This is the conference room. Mr. Stevens often holds meetings in here with clients. We usually make arrangements with a local business to cater the meetings, but on rare occasions a meeting will be arranged at the last minute. He tries to avoid those at all costs because he hates last minute changes. He was quite grumpy this morning when he was called down for the one he’s currently in.”

“I hate last minute changes myself, but things pop up,” Sam shrugged. “I’ve learned to roll with it.”

“Vincent usually does, as well,” Linda assured her. “He’s a good man to work for and I hate having to leave, but this was never meant to be a long-term job for me.”

Sam smiled as she set her purse and folder on the table with the water bottle. They’d had that discussion last week when Linda had called her to arrange the interview. “I’m sure he will hate to see you go,” she said softly, letting her eyes wander the conference room to take in the décor. Framed blue prints and artfully-framed collages of construction projects lined the wall butting up to the hallway, including old photos of some of the city’s most recognizable structures, both past and present. One garish painting adorned the wall opposite the door to the office had her grimacing.  
“On the contrary,” Linda chuckled heartily. “He can’t wait for me to retire, he claims I’m a dictator in the office.”

Sam’s eyes shot back to the warm brown eyes of the older woman. It took her a moment to realize Linda was teasing. She huffed out a soft laugh. “I’ll do my best to make sure I won’t be labeled likewise,” she grinned.

“Oh, Dear, you’ll do just fine, I have faith in you,” Linda reached out to squeeze her arm. She started to say something else but a phone rang out in the office. “I’ll leave you to it, Sam, I’m sure Vincent will be right up. He tends to speed things along when he’s needed elsewhere.” With another gentle squeeze she swept out of the conference room. “VMS Architecture, LLC, Linda speaking, how may I assist you this morning? Oh, Mr. Stevens! No, I didn’t look at the caller ID,” she laughed. “Yes, Ms. Monroe has already arrived. No, she’s waiting, she had no issue with the delay. Vincent Stevens, must I remind you who you are talking to? Of course, I offered her food and drink! Pfft, no you won’t,” she laughed again. “All right, I’ll let her know.”

Sam’s attention was on the vast window overlooking the city and the river in the distance when Linda popped back into the conference room. “I take it he’s on his way?”

“Yes, Sweetie,” Linda smiled. “He tried to tell me how to do my job then told me he would miss me when I retire,” her smile turned into a fond expression. “I will miss him. He’s a good man, he just… lost his way for a while.”

“We all do,” Sam smoothed her hands down her grey slacks, her own smile dim from the memories she tried to shove down. 

Linda nodded. “Chin up, Dearie, you’ve cinched this job, I just know it.” With that, she ducked back into the office.

Vin grumbled to himself as he stepped off the elevator on the eighth floor. With a polite nod to the receptionists at the main desk he strode down the hall to his suite.

Damn Mathison for arranging that 8:30 meeting at the last damned minute. He wanted to get this interview over and done with so he could make up his mind about whether or not to hire this seemingly perfect applicant.

Samantha Monroe was perfect on paper. She had an interesting employment history ranging from summer temp work in office settings to slinging tacos, and one solid office job for a landscaping company before moving to the city. Her college education was what drew his attention, she had a degree in business management with minors in architecture and marketing. Her former employers and references gave him glowing reviews, and he hoped like hell she was still interested in the job. Because the other resumes Linda had handed him (with a frown of distaste) had gone through the shredder after one cursory glance. 

The other applicants were just like the other secretaries he’d gone through before he’d been blessed (and cursed) with Linda.

He hoped like hell this Samantha Monroe wouldn’t turn out to be like any of them.

He let himself into the office and gave Linda an apologetic smile before ducking into his office to grab the folder he had the resume tucked in. He grinned when his assistant handed him a fresh mug of coffee before heading into the conference room.

He damn near spilled his coffee when his hazel eyes landed on a petite brunette standing with her back to him. Long, wavy brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head and spilled to her shoulder blades. A hint of a tattoo peeked out of the low collar of the black batwinged blouse she wore and the desire to see, to touch, to lick, to kiss the artwork hit him hard. He shook himself from that unwarranted wayward thought. God dammit, Stevens, she is a candidate for a job, not a woman to lust after! You’re NOT that man anymore!

Unfortunately the old Vincent Stevens had other ideas and continued the perusal. His hazel eyes slowly caressed down the young woman’s back to the hem of her blouse snug around her waist and stretched slightly over the smart grey slacks that stretched over her hips and bottom before falling straight to her heels. Chunky-heeled shoes completed the ensemble that he could see, and damn if he didn’t find that smart look to be sexy as hell.

“Beautiful view.” Fuck my life, he instantly berated himself when the words popped out of his mouth in a husky tone. He caught a slight stiffening of her body before she responded.

“If you’re talking about the cityscape, I have to disagree,” she looked over her shoulder.

His breath caught in his throat. Long bangs swept over her forehead, black cat-eyed glasses framed big grey eyes. He forced his eyes to remain locked with hers for fear he would stare too long at her full lips and the shimmery nude gloss she wore. She’s beautiful.

Thank God she hadn’t fully turned around. He wasn’t prepared to see her from the front.

“Why’s that?” His voice was huskier than he’d hoped, shit fucking fire, he thought as he approached the window. He lifted his mug to take a drink of his coffee, hoping to calm his damned thoughts before he fucked up big time and scared her off. She’s perfect for the assistant position, but god dammit I can’t have her working for me, not if I’m already attracted to her.

She turned back to the window. “Five blocks out, there’s a three-block stretch of eyesore out there. Dilapidated buildings.”

“They’re coming down,” he told her. “To make room for a park and a pavilion.”

“Are you throwing your hat in the ring for design bids?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “I apologize for not introducing myself, although you already know who I am. Vincent Stevens.”

Sam found herself laughing softly at that. “Sam Monroe.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Monroe,” his voice was gruff again, dammit. Pleasure, indeed. Get yourself together, Stevens. “Tell me, Ms. Monroe, why do you seek employment with my firm?”

“I’ve worked office jobs off and on since high school,” she answered, turning away from the window to face him. “I’m very familiar with the environment, I’m highly efficient with organization, skilled at setting up for meetings, and as my mother would say, I’m a walking appointment calendar. I also have an interest in architecture, although my interest is more toward houses and landscaping.”

“Those would come in quite handy for this firm,” he nodded. “Why my firm? Why would you want to work for me?”  
“Out of all the office jobs available at the moment, yours is the only one that pertains to what I’ve studied and what I’m interested in,” she answered. “Maybe someday I will go back to school to further study architectural design and landscaping so I could be a better asset for the company,” she added softly, looking out the window once more.

His brow quirked at that. “I’m sure you’ve heard all the sordid little details of my past, Ms. Monroe,” he tried to avoid looking at her but failed. His eyes swept down her frame before he sharply looked away. 

“What happened in the past is just that, the past, Mr. Stevens,” she stated stiffly. “It has nothing to do with the position and therefore is none of my business.”

“It’s not an easy job,” he told her, switching tactics to try to dissuade her. I just got my life back together, just got my company back on track, I do NOT need her tempting me to fuck it all up! 

“There’s no such thing as an easy job,” she countered, turning to face him. “You’re attempting to talk me out of the job, Mr. Stevens. A man in your position should not be pushing away a qualified candidate.”

He snorted again. “A job like this would eat you alive. We’re in the city, not some small town in the middle of nowhere.”

She shook her head again. “You do not know me, you do not know what I can handle,” she stated. “Let me have a trial week. Decide at the end of the week as to whether or not you think I can handle working as your administrative assistant.”

He nodded after a moment. “Okay.” Turning back to her, he looked her in the eye. “Mrs. McIntyre will give you the tour, show you the ropes, provide the paperwork,” he started toward the door. “Your trial starts now.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam begins her first full official day at VMS Architecture, LLC.   
> (I'm not the best at summaries).

“He tried talking you out of the job?” Kenna’s blue eyes widened.  
Sam nodded as she grabbed the takeout bag. There was no way in hell she was going to tell Kenna how she felt Mr. Stevens checking her out when he’d arrived. She’s felt the heated burn of his gaze on her, had heard the huskiness in his voice. Nor was she willing to admit that her heart had nearly skipped a beat when she’d turned to look at him. It had scared her, his thinly veiled interest, but for the first time in her life she felt a spark of attraction. “Yeah, he did,” she pursed her lips into a frown. “He didn’t even properly interview me, either. Mrs. McIntyre alluded to the fact that I had the job in the bag before I even came in, but yet he tried hard to make me change my mind.” She glanced over at her cousin. “I know you don’t want me working for him, but, Kenna, I need this job!”  
The blonde nodded. “I know, Cuz. Just… be careful around him, and if he makes you uncomfortable, get out.”  
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she shook her head. “I didn’t just step out of my comfort zone, Ken, I sling-shotted myself out of it. I need to face my fears head-on and finally put everything behind me.”  
“Thing is, Sam, you’ll never be able to fully put what happened behind,” Kenna pointed out.  
“I wish I could,” she shuddered, closing her eyes and willing away the memories threatening to crop up. “But I’ve already come a long way.”  
Her cousin smiled, “Yes, you have.” 

“Good morning, Dear,” Linda greeted Sam when she walked into the office at 7:35 the next morning. “We’ve got a busy day today, Vincent has two meetings in the conference room at 10:15 and at 2:45, as well as a conference call at 11:30,” she frowned. “Which means he might not be able to leave for lunch. He’s not picky about what he eats, so I usually order from a nearby restaurant that delivers if he gets tied up.”  
Sam nodded. “Does he have a favorite?”  
“Heavens, yes, he absolutely loves Gordy’s, the burger joint a couple of blocks from here. Do you like burgers?” Linda’s kindly brown eyes swept over Sam’s petite form.  
She smiled. “Yes, I do,” she replied. “I don’t indulge very often, though.”  
“We’ll place a lunch order from Gordy’s today, then, and I will make you a list of all the restaurants he likes and what to order from them,” the older woman nodded. “Here, let me put your purse with mine,” she offered.  
Sam handed it over and watched her slip it in the bottom left drawer of the desk. “What time does Mr. Stevens usually arrive?”  
“Seven-forty-five on the dot,” Linda answered, looking up at the clock on the wall by the bathroom door. “I always have a pot of coffee ready, and breakfast sweets on hand,” she pointed to the table with the coffee pot and a box of donuts. “When I first started working for Vincent he was stressed and irritable. I’ve found he’s much more personable after he eats something sweet.”  
Sam grabbed one of the chairs on the visitor’s side of the desk and carried it around to sit beside Linda. “What bakery do you go to?”  
“Sugar Pie, it’s along my route to work,” Linda told her. “I’m afraid you’ll be driving out of your way if you decide to stick with them.”  
“I drove by a bakery this morning on my way in… Heavenly DeLights, I think.”  
Linda’s eyes narrowed in thought as she scooted closer to the desk and pulled the keyboard drawer out. “Let’s see here,” she pulled up the internet browser and searched for the bakery name. “The one on 38th?”  
Sam nodded. “Yes.”  
Linda pulled up the bakery’s website. “This one has daily specials,” she murmured. “Tomorrow is dirt bombs… I’ve never heard of those before.”  
“If you want, I can stop by in the morning and pick up a box,” the younger woman offered.  
“You do that.” She bookmarked the website. “Oh, I forgot to tell you yesterday in all the excitement of welcoming you to the firm. You can listen to music if you wish, as long as it’s not loud and doesn’t make his ears bleed as he says.”  
Sam frowned. “I’m not listening to smooth jazz, easy listening or classical,” she barely realized she was curling her fingers into her pantlegs as she struggled to keep herself in the present.   
“Vincent will listen to just about any kind of music just as long as it’s not death metal, rap, or that new hip hop crap,” Linda hastened to assure her. “Dear, are you all right? You’ve gone pale on me,” she turned her chair to face Sam. “Sweetie?”  
She drew in a slow and deep breath. “I’m okay,” she pasted on a smile as she exhaled. “I just… I have some very unpleasant memories tied to the music I can’t tolerate.”  
Her mentor frowned. “Sam, if you need to duck out of the office for some fresh air, you won’t be in any trouble.”  
“I’m fine, I’m okay,” she whispered. “I like eighties music and classic rock. I listen to those all the time.”  
“Then that will be what we listen to today,” Linda managed a smile before looking toward the door when it opened. She glanced at the clock before her face took on a stern expression. “You’re late, Vincent.”  
“Accident on I-495,” he shot a mock glare at the assistant. “Had to take a different route.” He nudged the door shut with his foot before he headed to his office. “Morning, ladies.” His eyes lingered on Sam a moment, his mouth curving slightly when she murmured a soft greeting. “What’s on tap for the meetings today?”  
“I picked up an assortment of muffins and cookies for the meetings when I stopped for donuts this morning,” Linda told him. “I made sure to get extra chocolate Baileys muffins and macadamia nut cookies, which,” she leveled a look on Vincent, “you will have to share with Sam. She loves those cookies, too.”  
“Linda, you know I don’t share,” he returned the look.   
“Oh, don’t worry, Dear,” the older woman smiled at her protégé. “I made sure to set aside extra for you.”  
“Thank you, Linda,” Sam smiled back. “You didn’t have to.”  
“If the two of you are through tormenting me…” he trailed off as he walked into his office.  
Linda chuckled with a shake of her head. “He hates days like this,” she murmured softly. “Usually he doesn’t have more than one meeting and a few important calls.” She sighed heavily. “It took him months to get used to the idea that I would efficiently set up the conference room for the meetings, make arrangements for having food brought in. His previous assistants… Well,” she snorted disdainfully as she nodded toward the conference room. “They weren’t dedicated to the job.” She stood up and motioned for Sam to follow.  
Once they were in the conference room, Linda walked over to the head of the table and picked up the stack of portfolios they’d put together yesterday afternoon. Sam followed suit and picked up the pens. As they worked together to set up for the first meeting, the platinum-haired grandmother-to-be sighed heavily.  
“Vincent had a string of bad luck before he gave the temp agency he was going through for secretaries a piece of his mind. All the so-called assistants they sent him wanted one thing, and one thing only.”  
Going by the look on Linda’s face, Sam understood immediately. “I promise you that’s not why I applied,” she whispered, too shocked to find her voice.  
“I know, Sweetie,” Linda reached over and took her hand. “They were all local, they’d heard the stories, they’d heard the rumors, they’d seen his photo plastered all over the news. Vincent Stevens is a very good-looking man.”  
“I know,” she blushed when Linda gave her a warm smile. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”  
“You did, Dear, but I know you’re not here to find out if he really is a god in bed like a lot of women have claimed. Those others… I’ve heard from the girls working the front desk that they would come to work dressed like tramps and not a single one of them lasted a month before quitting. They quit because they didn’t get anywhere with him. He's determined to rebuild his image.”  
She shook her head. “I’m here because I want this job,” she stated quietly. “I’ve heard about his past indiscretions, I’ve heard about the arrest, I've heard that he was cleared of the charges. I didn’t know him then, that’s in the past and quite frankly it’s none of my business, nor is it my place to judge.” She met the other woman’s brown eyes, her jaw set with determination. “I’m here to do a job to the best of my ability to help him run his company as smoothly as possible. And I hope to be here for the long haul because… I don’t want to be just a secretary for the rest of my life, I’d like to actually do what he does, design buildings and bring visions to life.”  
Linda smiled. “I believe you will, Dear,” she reached out and gently brushed her hand down Sam’s arm. “And I believe our Vincent will help you achieve that dream.”

Vincent stalked out of his office at 9:59, his tie draped around his neck. “Conference room set up?” He barely cast them a glance as he headed straight for the coffee.   
Sam frowned as she caught Linda’s eye. Linda merely rolled her own as she shook her head.  
“Sam just finished setting out the refreshments,” the older woman assured Vincent. “I think you should lay off the coffee.”  
“Not a chance in hell, Mother,” he snarked back. A grin teased at the corner of his mouth. “It’s my lifeline today.”  
Linda shook her head. “Everything will run smooth, just you wait and see,” she assured him.   
“I hope so,” he muttered, draining the cup of coffee he’d poured before setting the mug down and stalking toward the bathroom to tie his tie. “Wish I didn’t have to wear this thing.”  
“He hates ties,” Linda murmured to Sam. “He doesn’t like how constricting it feels on his neck. The only time you will see him wearing one is if he has a meeting.”  
Some muttered curses from the bathroom caught her attention once more before Vincent walked out adjusting his tie. She ripped her eyes away before he could catch her gawking at him.  
Never in her life had she found a man to be attractive and it scared the hell out of her.  
Linda pushed away from the desk and turned to the cabinet on the wall behind her above the shelf. “Sam, he keeps a bottle of bourbon in here for a celebratory drink, or for an emergency cool down,” she advised as she grabbed the bottle and a tumbler. “He rarely imbibes at work, and I certainly don’t condone it, but this, I believe, is an exception.” She poured the drink and passed it off to Sam.   
She stood up and walked over to Vincent. “Here, Mr. Stevens,” she offered quietly and pressed the tumbler into his hand. When his hand curled around the glass, his fingers brushing hers, she shivered and quickly stepped back. “I should take the coffee into the conference room and make sure everything’s all set,” she babbled before rushing off to do her self-assigned task.

Vincent turned toward the window and closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. Fuck my life, I do not need this right now, he mentally berated himself. Do not let her get under your skin, Stevens.   
“Too late,” he muttered under his breath before he drained the glass of bourbon she had given him.  
His fingers still tingled where they'd accidentally brushed hers a moment ago. He had felt her shiver, had seen her pupils dilate behind those damned glasses. For a split second he thought himself a fool for hiring her, thought she was after one thing and one thing only. But she had retreated, she had immediately created distance between them by focusing on the job.  
Something the former assistants had never done.  
He knew he should be relieved that she had done the right thing, but dammit that only intrigued him that much more where she was involved.  
He needed to make sure that distance was maintained, that their relationship was nothing more than professional. He needed an assistant who knew what the hell she was doing, who could run the office efficiently. He just needed to convince his damned libido that she was off-limits.  
He just needed to figure out how.

Sam felt her skin crawl when the men attending the first meeting started arriving. Five men with wandering eyes. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from visibly shuddering, and she dreaded going into the conference room with them to take notes for Mr. Stevens. She picked up the notebook and ink pen she'd set out before taking a deep breath.  
"Are you all right, Dear?" Linda asked with a concerned frown.  
She nodded. "I will be," she murmured before she headed to the conference room.  
She shuddered to feel five pairs of eyes tracking her every move to the far end of the table. She gave a cursory nod as she took her seat before turning her attention to Vincent.  
"Before we get down to business on discussing the Mason project, let me make a quick introduction," he stated. "This is Samantha Monroe. She will be taking over for Linda once she retires."  
As much as she did not want to look these men in the eye she knew she needed to as Vincent introduced each one to her. She was unsettled to learn they worked for other firms in the building who were vested in the project Stevens was designing. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with their lingering stares.  
The meeting droned on as the men discussed the project and argued over a few ideas. Sam looked up from her notes to find Vincent pinching the bridge of his nose, jaw clenched in frustration.  
"Mr. Stevens, if I may," she spoke up against her better judgement.   
He dropped his hand to look at her. "Ms. Monroe," he leaned back in his chair as he acknowledged her request.  
Sam pulled her copy of the portfolio closer and flipped to the rough sketches of the building. "With all due respect, the type of glass vestibule you're suggesting is terrible."  
The man who had suggested it (she couldn't remember his name other than she'd secretly nicknamed him Leering Larry) glared at her. "And why is that?" His tone held a bit of an edge to it.  
"Masters," Vincent warned.  
"The apartment complex I live in has glass vestibules at every exterior entry point, including the courtyard," she said. "Quite frankly it is an eyesore and not very economical. They are drafty, they leak when it storms, and the hand prints... Someone would have to be responsible to clean those windows every single time someone touched the glass. The company that owns the apartment complex has had to replace at least one door and five window panes already this year, due to hail damage and teenagers thinking they're hot stuff." She held up her hand when Masters opened his mouth. "Maybe they used the wrong kind of glass, maybe it was built in a hurry, or maybe it wasn't sealed properly, I am aware of every argument you could put forth. But the fact of the matter is this will only drive the cost of rent for these apartments up to offset the cost of repairs, not to mention the cost of electricity to heat and cool the building around the entry points. It would be more cost effective and aesthetically pleasing to have an inset vestibule." She frowned in thought as she looked at the design. "Mr. Stevens, which direction will the front of the building face?"  
"Southeast," Vincent frowned at her. "Why?"  
"Sunlight reflecting off the windows of an exterior vestibule will blind drivers on their early morning commute at this time of year," Sam pointed out. "It will be a safety issue for drivers."  
Masters' eyes narrowed on her. "You're just a secretary. What do you know about architectural design and cost effectiveness?"  
Sam felt her face heat up. Before she could formulate a polite rebuttal her boss spoke up.  
"Jackson, I will say this only once," his voice was low, even, and a touch frosty. "And this goes for all of you. Please do not speak to anyone in my employ like that again." His hazel eyes flicked from one man to the next before settling on Sam. "Ms. Monroe has pointed out some very valid issues with the exterior vestibule. I was thinking the same damned things myself."  
Sam noticed Masters getting ready to argue once more. She also noticed Vincent's barely concealed agitation. "Mr. Stevens, may I suggest we wrap this meeting up so you can prepare for your conference call?"   
He looked down at his watch and grimaced. "Yes, thank you, Ms. Monroe. Gentlemen, we will arrange another meeting in two weeks' time to go over updated designs and budget."  
Sam gathered her portfolio and notebook and headed out of the conference room. She stiffened when she felt several pairs of eyes following her.   
Before she even cleared the door she heard one of the men mutter, "Stevens, you lucky sonofabitch. You lucked out with a looker with brains this time."  
Her stomach churned at that, the all too familiar tone bringing up unwelcome memories.   
She barely made it to the bathroom before she lost what little she had in her stomach.

Vincent bristled at Johnson's comment. He'd had the very same thoughts himself, last night in the god damned shower. He shot the man a hard look but kept his mouth shut as he walked out of the conference room.  
He frowned when he heard Linda knock on the bathroom door.  
"Sam, are you all right, Dear?" The older woman looked over at him.   
"What's wrong with Ms. Monroe?" He asked, focusing on his assistant.  
"Poor dear bolted into the bathroom and started throwing up," Linda shook her head. "She wasn't feeling well earlier this morning, either."  
His frown deepened. "If she needs to go home, tell her to go home," he said before disappearing into his office to prepare for the conference call.

Sam flushed the toilet before turning to the sink and gripping the edge of the marble vanity. Her legs still trembled but at least she was no longer nauseous. Sucking in a deep breath she looked up and grimaced at her reflection. Her eyes were bloodshot and watery, her eyeliner smudged. Her chest was red and splotchy.   
It had been a long time since she'd last gotten sick like that.   
She washed her hands and dabbed at her face, wondering how the hell she was going to rinse out her mouth to get rid the nasty taste. Rinsing with warm water was not going to help.  
She jumped when she heard a knock on the door, but didn't answer when Linda called out to her. When Linda didn't repeat the question Sam looked around, nearly crying in relief when she saw a bottle of mouthwash on a small shelf near the mirror. She didn't care that she would have wintermint fresh breath (she despised most mouthwash flavors) if it meant she wouldn't be tasting that awful stomach acid.  
She walked out into the office a few minutes later. She gave Linda a soft smile. "I'm all right, my nerves bubbled up," she lied. "I went toe-to-toe with one of those men about a suggestion he'd had. I just hope Mr. Stevens isn't upset with me for crossing a line."  
Linda shook her head, her brown eyes studying the younger woman. "Our Vincent values any impute we might have, Sam. Are you sure you're feeling all right? If you need to go home..."  
She shook her head. "I'm not about to flake out during my trial week, Linda," she smiled again. "I feel much better, honestly."   
"If you need to step out for some fresh air, Vincent won't mind," Linda suggested. "If you like, I could order lunch and you could pick it up."  
"I could do that," Sam nodded.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam settles in at work.

Monday morning rolled around faster than Sam would've liked. She felt her stomach churn at the prospect of not having Linda there to talk to.   
She headed to the office early with a quick stop at the bakery along the way. Armed with fresh donut holes (plain glazed, cookie dough stuffed, cinammon sugar sprinkled, and maple glazed) and a toasted white hot chocolate, she halted in her tracks when she reached the door to the office suite.   
"What the... When the hell did he have this done?"  
Her grey eyes began to burn as she studied the frosted glass of the door. 

VMS Architecture, LLC.  
Vincent M. Stevens, NCARB  
Samantha Monroe, Administrative Assistant

She stared at her name, beautifully scripted in gold lettering on the glass.   
Linda hadn't even had that honor.  
Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door and stepped into the office. My office.  
As she flipped on the light and started toward her desk she paused again, startled to find her name beautifully engraved onto a walnut name plate settled on the corner of the desk, next to a matching business card holder complete with a stack of cards with her name, extension and email.   
A ceramic flower pot sat next to the computer monitor at the opposite corner of the desk with an artfully planted variety of small cactus plants. She let out a watery laugh at the wording on the pot: Free Hugs. She knew the cacti were from Linda, an inside joke between the two of them based on something Linda had told her earlier in the week. Vincent will come off as prickly for a while, but he will eventually warm up to you, Dear. Give him time, give him space, occasionally make sure he eats and drinks if he has a very busy day. One day he will surprise you.  
A gift bag and a card were placed on the center of the desk. Sam shook her head as she set her cup and the donut holes down, busying herself with putting her purse away and hanging her jacket on the coat rack next to the door.  
She had just finished starting the coffee and setting the box of breakfast goodies on the refreshment table when she heard the door open. She turned around and offered a warm smile when Vincent shut the door behind him. "Good morning, Mr. Stevens," she greeted him. "Thank you for..." she gestured to the desk set.  
"Don't mention it," he frowned at the desk. "Ready to start your first official week?"  
"Yes, sir," she nodded. "The coffee should be ready in five minutes, and I picked up an assortment of donut holes," she made her way to the window and the cords for the wooden blinds. "I wasn't sure what you would like so I picked four different kinds."  
"I know Linda told you I have a sweet tooth," his tone was wry as he made his way to his office. "I'm sure whatever you got is fine."  
Sam made her way back to the desk. As she waited for the computer to start she picked up the card propped up against the small gift.  
Sam-- Our Vincent struck gold when he hired you to take over the office. You will do just fine as his new assistant. Don't let his prickly demeanor get to you, it's become his default setting ever since that happened. And don't forget, you can decorate your office however it suits you, you can bring stuff in to keep in the bathroom, you can listen to your music, and you can dress however you feel most comfortable as long as you still look professional. And if Vincent ever treats you wrong, don't be afraid to call me. I might be moving out of state, but I can always make a trip back to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. You can also call me anytime you want, keep me up-to-date on the gossip. I'll miss everyone there, and even though I'd only known you a short time, I've come to view you as another daughter. You take good care of our Vincent, spoil him with breakfast sweets and good coffee. Make sure he eats, make sure he goes home to get some rest when the project consumes him (and it will, I've come in many a morning to find him sound asleep at the drawing board or on that damn couch. He's a real bastard when he doesn't get enough rest, but don't let that scare you off). Keep in touch.-- Love, Linda. P.S.- Don't forget, I left you a set of "How To Care For Your Architect" instructions tucked away in the second drawer to your left. It includes a list of everything I know he likes, hotels and airlines he prefers, restaurants he uses for business dinners. His favorite color is steel grey, he's a sucker for Hershey Hugs, and if he misplaces his pen, you'll find it on your desk.  
Sam dashed away the tear that had slipped down her cheek as she set the card aside. She had grown to love Linda as a second mom and already missed her. She smiled as she reached for the gift bag and nearly cried when she pulled out a black resin cat paper weight.  
She set it next to the phone on the left side of the desk before turning to the computer to log in.

Sam settled into a routine. Up at five, out the door by six-thirty, stop by the bakery for breakfast and for that yummy hot chocolate, arrive at the office by seven-thirty, have coffee ready by seven-forty-five, lunch anywhere between eleven and one-thirty (depending on Vincent's schedule), out the door whenever Vincent finished up for the day, home within half an hour, in her pajamas and eating a quick supper, in bed by ten-thirty. Wash, rinse, repeat. By her third day Vincent tried telling her she could leave at four-thirty if she wished, there was no need to stay passed office hours. She declined. "I was hired as your administrative assistant, Mr. Stevens. I leave when you leave."  
She found an old-fashioned candy bowl at a flea market one weekend and brought it in to place on her desk with Hershey Hugs. She had also found a few other things she wanted to bring in, but hesitated on personalizing the office. She worried Vincent would not appreciate finding a framed blueprint of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 or a replica of the Death Star plans data chip.  
She feared they would clash with that hideous knock-off Jackson Pollock painting that hung on the wall behind her desk, above the shelves. She hated that painting. Why it hung in an architect's office she had no idea. It was the only thing out of place in the office suite. Vincent's office proudly displayed his degrees, certificates and licenses, a few framed blueprints and a framed crudely-drawn blueprint of the Castle Grayskull. "I grew up on Masters of the Universe, had all the action figures and the castle. I was home sick for a week with chicken pox, miserable as hell, bored out of my mind and missing my friends. Dad came home early from work one afternoon with a bag full of crayons, coloring books and a sketchpad, gave Mom some cash and told her to go shopping, go eat, get out of the house and enjoy herself for a while. I sat down on the floor after Dad cleared off the coffee table and we colored for a while. Then I started drawing. I'd always been fascinated by the design of Castle Grayskull and wanted to build one of my own. I was seven years old when I drew that. That's when I knew I wanted to design and build things."  
She had been shocked that he had so willingly shared that childhood memory with her. And his smile. She'd seen ghosts of smiles before, but a full-blown smile displaying dimples had left her weak in the knees. He looked ten years younger with that smile, and she couldn't help but smile back.  
But ever since that rare moment of camaraderie he'd thrown up a wall once again, bringing their working relationship back to strictly professional, and borderline cold. She knew he could be an easy-going man to work for, she'd witnessed the banter between him and Linda multiple times during her trial week. She just wished he wasn't so cold toward her.

Vincent had a meeting across town and would likely be gone all afternoon. As he set his briefcase and suit jacket on one of her guest chairs and tossed his steel grey tie around his neck, he leveled his patented stern look on her. The Look (TM) was supposed to be intimidating, and it used to scare the hell out of her the first few times she'd seen it (usually directed at someone else, but she'd been caught in the crosshairs a couple of times). Unfortunately she (for some weird reason she couldn't explain) had begun to find that frowny glare to be sexy as hell. "Ms. Monroe, if I'm not back by four-thirty, lock up shop for the day and go home," he turned toward the bathroom. "You don't need to be pulling ten hour days because of me."  
She smiled despite the blush staining her cheeks from The Look (TM). "As I've said before, Mr. Stevens, I'm your administrative assistant, and it is my job to be here for you should you need me."  
"I don't recall contracting you to work ten hours a day, Monroe," he turned away from the mirror as he finished his impeccable Windsor knot.  
"Technically I'm only working nine," she pointed out as she leaned back in her chair.  
"You eat at your desk half the time, Monroe," he walked out of the bathroom. "I've seen you working through lunch."  
"Only when I have a deadline to meet for your meetings," she shrugged. "I need to finish putting together the portfolios for Thursday's meeting."  
"Today's Tuesday, you have all day tomorrow."  
"I'll be setting up the conference room and inventorying supplies so I know what you need."  
He snorted. "Remind me again why I hired such a stubborn assistant?" He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.  
She scooped a small handful of Hugs from the candy bowl and held them out when Vincent approached her desk. "At first I thought you were very impressed with my resume, then I suspected for my looks... but now I honestly believe Linda probably threatened you into hiring me."  
"Your resume certainly clinched it, Monroe. And Linda did hound me." His face darkened a little as he carefully took the offered chocolate from her hand. "You're going to spoil my lunch, Monroe."  
"No, I'm not," she denied, watching him slip the Hugs into the pocket of his jacket. "I know you would have snuck a handful on your way out, to go along with the handful that's likely already stashed in your briefcase."  
His head snapped up.  
"I had to refill the bowl, Mr. Stevens," she leaned back in her chair. "I'll definitely need to work longer hours to afford the chocolates and the breakfast sweets."  
"Use the company card, I'll figure it into the expenses," he narrowed his eyes at her. "Refreshments for clientele."  
She nodded. She didn't mind buying the chocolate or the morning sweets, but she knew better than to argue with him on it. Arguing had always gotten her into serious trouble when she was a teenager. Do not go there, Sam.  
"All right, I will," she agreed softly.   
"If you still have receipts, bring 'em in, I'll make sure to cut you a check to reimburse you."  
"That's not necessary, Mr. Stevens," she shook her head.   
He shot her a glare. "Yes, it is. I can't keep allowing you to pay out of pocket for pastries and candy that my clients and associates are eating."   
I can't keep allowing you... Sam stiffened at his words. She quickly tore her eyes from his. "I... I didn't think it was that big of a deal, I'm... I will find those receipts and bring them in," she flinched when Vincent moved toward the door.  
That flinch was not lost on the architect. He turned to look at her. "Monroe, are you all right?"  
Sam drew in a breath before nodding. "I'm fine," she kept her eyes glued to the cat paper weight in front of her.  
"Monroe, look at me."  
The sudden and uncharacteristic softness in her boss' tone drew her eyes to him. The look on his face told her he didn't believe her. He took a step toward her and it was all she could do to not flinch away.  
His frown morphed into one of worry. "Monroe, don't worry about it," he took a step back. "I just don't want you spending your money on things benefiting the company's clientele and associates." He turned toward the door. "Why don't you take your lunch, lock up the office and get some fresh air somewhere. You don't have to stay in here when I'm out, let the calls go to voicemail. They can wait."  
She nodded. "Okay."  
"I mean it, Monroe. Leave the office for an hour."  
With that, he was gone.  
Sam's eyes slid shut and she drew in a slow, shaky breath. She exhaled heavily, shaking off the fear that had gripped her for a moment. He won't hurt me. He's not a predator. He's not Terrance.   
But those words echoed in her head, words her stepfather had used quite often when she had disobeyed him. Words he had whispered so smoothly, so silkily, as he forced her to her knees or forced her over his desk.  
"Don't go there, Sam," she ground out. "He won't hurt you anymore."  
She shifted in her seat, angling her chair to face her computer more comfortably, saving the proposal she was drafting for Vincent before closing out open programs and putting the device to sleep. She reached for her phone and dialed her cousin's desk extension. "Hey, I'm getting ready to head to lunch, wanna join me?"


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam shows up for work exhausted after a sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of past sexual abuse.

Sam jerked awake, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. She kicked off her covers and sat up. It had been a long time since she'd had one of those flashback nightmares. She scrubbed her hands over her face before she turned to look at her alarm clock. 3:47 a.m. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Not after a nightmare like that.  
She leaned over and turned on her lamp. Her old therapist had advised keeping a journal and writing things down. Flashbacks. Nightmares. Triggers. Dreams. Desires. She had given up on going to therapy halfway through college, when juggling classes, studying, working, and therapy sessions had proven to be too much. But she never gave up on journaling.  
Sam slipped her glasses on and pulled her notebook and pen out of the drawer on her night stand. She twisted her lips as she skimmed the cover. Journal #12. Nearly a decade had passed since speaking up about her stepfather's abuse, but she still kept detailed track of every nightmare. Every flashback. Every dream. Twelve journals.   
She closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling. She propped up her pillows, opened the notebook to a new page, and settled down to write about the latest nightmare.  
September 21, 2016-- I woke up at 3:47 a.m. after a vivid nightmare involving Terrance. This one was about the tutoring sessions with my old tutor. I still don't understand how she ever went along with the sex abuse.   
In the nightmare she wasn't tutoring me in pre-calculus like she used to. She was tutoring me in how to masturbate while Terrance watched us. She had a backpack full of different vibrators and other sex toys and lubricants, just like she did the first time she participated in Terrance's sick abuse. She started off teaching me how to seductively strip off my clothes and spread out on the sofa, then on the chair, with Terrance filming every second...  
Sam wrote down every detail of the dream, every disgusting act that her old mentor had performed and forced her to perform. Tears dripped onto the lined paper. Ink bled and blurred. But she wrote until every last bit of the nightmare was documented.  
She tossed the notebook aside and raked her hands through her hair. What the hell triggered this nightmare? She thought back over the day, what she did, who she spoke with. Bakery. Work. Rearranging Vincent's schedule to fit in an on-site visit. Lunch run. Quiet afternoon. Vincent's meeting with one of the contractors working on the Mason build.  
Her stomach churned. Derek Watson. Of course. That pervert had leered at her the moment he walked into the office. Tried hitting on her before she had called Vincent to let him know his two-o-clock was there. Watson had slipped her his business card after the meeting, his cell number and "let's meet for drinks sometime. you won't regret it" scrawled on the back. And had the nerve to wink at her as he strutted out the door. Strutted.   
She'd thrown that card away immediately.   
With a sigh she slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. She should have told Vincent about that, but what good would it have done? Watson was apparently an old fraternity brother. Frat brothers typically stuck together like glue, believed each other, backed each other up. It would just be her word against his. It had been best to just remain silent on that matter, throw the card in the trash, and pray like hell it never happened again.   
Sam turned away from the window and made her way to the bathroom. "Might as well get my day started," she shook her head. 

So much for getting a head start on the day.  
It was raining heavily by the time she reached the bakery, and a traffic accident forced a traffic jam and a slow-going reroute. She pulled into a spot in the parking garage just in time to see her boss exiting his black Highlander.   
Her eyes widened when she realized he was heading her way.   
He waited as she climbed out and reached into the back seat for the box of dirt bombs, his newest weakness. "You got caught up in that accident on 38th?"  
She nodded, looking up at him when he took the bakery box from her. "Yeah." She turned back to the car to grab her purse and the large cup. She'd forgone her beloved hot chocolate for a toasted white chocolate mocha with caramel drizzle. Caffeine was a necessity today.   
Vincent frowned at the drink. "Since when do you drink mochas?"  
She locked the car before slipping her keys into her purse. "Couldn't sleep," she shrugged.   
"Could've called in, Monroe, I can run the office without you for a day, it won't kill me."  
"You've got the meeting and a conference call today," she shook her head. "And you're planning to visit the Taylor build."  
"I can handle it, go home, Monroe."  
She looked up at him. "I'll be fine, Mr. Stevens," she managed a weary smile. "I pulled all-nighters in college working on term papers and studying for finals. I can function adequately on three hours sleep."  
Vincent gave her a look that practically shouted he did not believe her, but he was wise enough to not try to argue with her. "All right, Monroe," he shook his head with a resigned sigh. "You win this time, but the moment you start falling asleep at your desk I will personally take you home. I'm not going to risk letting you get behind the wheel if you're too exhausted to work." His admonishing glare softened into one of concern, a rare expression on his handsome face. "And if I do take you home, you're taking tomorrow off. No arguments."  
"You have a couple of site visits tomorrow."  
"Yes, and I can route all office calls to my cell," he rolled his hazel eyes. "I thought Linda was stubborn, but you've got her beat by a mile, Monroe."  
The grin that teased at his lips left her feeling unsettled. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried it for a moment. "It's been a long time since anyone has called me stubborn," she said after releasing her lip. She couldn't help her own smile.   
"I mean that in the best possible way, Monroe," he pointed out.  
Her smile brightened. "Is that a compliment, Mr. Stevens?"  
He chuckled. "Yeah, Monroe, it is."

"C'mon, Monroe, I'm takin' ya home."  
Sam startled at Vincent's low voice. She winced as she straightened from her slouch against her left hand and quickly righted her glasses on her face. "I wasn't sleeping, I swear!"  
He shook his head with a wry chuckle. "Sweetheart, you were snoring."  
"I was not!"  
"No, you weren't, but you were nodding off," he admitted. "Let me take you home. I'd let you take a nap on the couch in my office, but I've got that meeting."  
Oh, no. Bad idea. BAD idea. Very bad idea. Ever since Linda had told her Vincent had spent several nights sleeping on that couch she'd had a few random dreams involving it.   
She quickly tore her eyes from his. "I need to make sure you have everything ready for that meeting," she braced her hands and pushed to her feet.  
"You did that yesterday, Monroe," he frowned. "I know you're a stickler about making sure everything is perfect for any meeting I have, and I appreciate it more than I let on, but it's just a one-on-one, thirty minute meeting after lunch in my office."  
"Am I supposed to call a cab in the morning?"  
He shook his head. "Remember what I said this morning in the parking garage? If I take you home, you're taking tomorrow off."  
"I don't need to take tomorrow off," she glowered at him. "I don't need to take this afternoon off, I'll be fine."  
"Not gonna argue with you, Monroe," he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I knew these long hours you insist on putting in because of me were going to bite you in the ass," he muttered under his breath. "I'm taking you home and I'm making you take tomorrow off. I'll bribe you if I have to."  
"I don't do bribes."  
"Then what is it going to take to get you to take a damned day off for yourself?"  
Her grey eyes widened at his frustrated growl. "You need me here."  
"Not if you're wearing yourself out, Monroe," his glare returned. "I need you to take care of yourself first. Get your stuff so I can drive you home."  
Sam slumped back in her seat. "All right," she acquiesced. "I can drive myself."  
"No," he leaned forward, bracing his palms on her desk. "I can see the exhaustion in your eyes, Monroe. You're not getting behind the wheel. Not gonna take that chance that you'll wind up in a wreck in this storm." His eyes were hard, his expression stony. "I'll drive you home."  
"You've got the--"  
"Jesus Christ," he groaned. "Get your stuff gathered up," he shoved away from the desk and disappeared into his office.  
Sam shook her head wearily as she saved what she'd been working on and started shutting down the computer. Once she completed her end of day tasks she stood up and grabbed her coat and purse and walked to Vincent's office door.  
He was at his desk with a laptop open. "C'mere," he held up his left hand and wiggled his pinky and ring fingers. "Since you're stubborn and worried that I can't run this office without you," his lips curved in a slight grin, "you have wi-fi?"  
She nodded. "Yes."  
"You can log onto this laptop with the same credentials as the desktops here," he said. "But I want to make sure you can get in before I hand it over."  
Sam set her coat and purse down on one corner of the leather couch before she joined Vincent at his desk. When he angled the laptop toward her she leaned slightly to type in her password. "I'm in."  
"Make sure that you can access your documents."  
"I keep everything on a thumb drive," she told him. "I'll grab it before we leave." She turned her head to look at him. "I'll back that thumb drive up on here," she logged off the laptop and shut it down.  
"I'm not doubting your abilities as an assistant, Monroe," he assured her. "I just need you to be well-rested. Come on, let's get you home."  
The drive across town to her apartment was quiet, a little tense. Sam was used to being alone with Vincent, but by alone she meant he in his office, her in hers. Rarely in the same room. Being in a car was a whole other ballgame. She could feel his body heat emanating from across the console, she could smell his subtle cologne. Oak and leather, a hint of spice. Nothing overpowering yet still intoxicating.   
"I'll be visiting that site tomorrow," Vincent pointed out the steel framework of an office building, drawing her attention to him. "The other one is on the riverfront."  
"What about the one this afternoon?"  
"That one's actually a mile from my place," he admitted. "I'll go there before I head home."  
Sam returned her tired gaze to the passenger window. "You've got a follow-up meeting Thursday. I need to get the conference room set up and the portfolios put together."  
"I can manage those just fine, Sam," he glanced over at her. "I ran that office for several months on my own before Linda came along."  
She managed a smile. "I know, I just... I don't like not being able to do my job."  
"You need to get some rest so you can," he told her as he slowed to turn into the parking lot next to her apartment complex.   
"You can drop me off at the door," she covered her mouth when she yawned.  
"I'll walk you up," he parked in the nearest available space. "You're my responsibility, Monroe."  
Her eyes widened as she turned to look at him. "I'm not going to fall asleep between the parking lot and my third floor apartment, Mr. Stevens."  
"And I'll make sure of that," he winked. "Quit being so damned stubborn."  
Her face flushed as she stared at him as he climbed out of the SUV and made his way around to her door. Her heart skipped, her breath hitched, her skin erupted into goosebumps. All from that wink.  
Why did he have to wink?  
Vincent shook his head as he reached out to open the door. "Better not get used to this, Monroe," he helped her out before leaning back in to grab the laptop case for her. "Otherwise I'll have to dock your pay."  
The teasing glint in his eyes gave him away and she smiled. "Who are you, and what have you done with my boss?"  
He chuckled. "Don't spend all afternoon working," he nodded toward the laptop case. "Get some rest, enjoy your day off tomorrow, and I'll pick you up Thursday. What time do you normally leave?"  
"Depending on the weather, anywhere between 6:45 and 7," she answered, leading the way to the building. She pulled her key card from her purse when they reached the door. "Don't... don't mind the interior," she warned quietly. "The landlord is... he's a piece of work."  
He frowned, taking the key card from her and swiping it through the reader. "Doesn't sound promising."  
"No, it's not," she admitted. "I plan on finding a different place once my lease is up next year."  
Vincent followed her inside, his eyes taking in the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpet. He frowned at the sign on the elevator. "Out of order, huh?"  
"Hasn't worked in years, from what the neighbors tell me," she headed toward the stairwell. "This building has so much potential."  
He caught her wistful tone. "Renovations for historic buildings are expensive, and would drive the cost of rent through the roof," he warned.  
"I know," she looked over her shoulder at him. "But it's a beautiful building, I'd hate to see it just deteriorate." She fell silent as she continued the trek up the stairs to her third floor apartment. "Or anyone else get hurt because something that several tenants have filed repair orders hasn't been fixed. Or robbed because the locks are too easy to pick." She shrugged. "Several of us on my floor wound up buying knew door knobs and deadbolts and replacing them. They're very easy to replace if you know how to do it."  
"Any security in this place, other than the key card locks at the main entrances?"  
She shook her head. "Just a couple of dummy cameras in the downstairs lobby. Even a fool can see those cameras aren't working. They're the kind that are supposed to sweep every thirty seconds or so."  
"Why'd you sign a lease here?"  
"Right price range, decent neighborhood for the most part. Yes, we have a couple of prostitutes and maybe even a drug dealer up on the fourth floor," she motioned down the open hallway. "I have good neighbors, and the fact that the stairwell is not closed off was a big plus. No worries about someone blocking access to the floors or hiding in the stairwell." She slipped her apartment keys out of her purse as they walked down the corridor to 315. "I've heard rumors that the building owner is thinking of selling the complex. If he does, I hope the right person buys it, but I'm worried the wrong one will come along, kick us all out and demolish it to build something this neighborhood does not need." She stopped and turned to face him. "This is me." She paused, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Thank you... for making sure I got home safe."  
Vincent shrugged. "You're welcome, Monroe. Get in there, lock that door, and get some rest. And don't even think of calling a cab or someone to give you a ride tomorrow, you're taking the day off." He took a step back. "I'll see you Thursday morning." He handed over the laptop.   
She shook her head as she reached for the bag. "I still don't like taking time off."  
"I need you to take care of yourself, Sam," he told her. "I'm not a slave driver."  
"The job isn't why I was awake half the night," she assured him. "I had a bad dream and it... stuck with me."  
He frowned. "If you need to take more time off..."  
"I'll be okay," she promised. "I'll see you Thursday."  
He touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute before turning and heading back down the hall toward the stairwell. "Get some rest, Monroe."  
"I will," she turned to her door.  
Fifteen minutes later she was changed into a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved Henley and settling down on her bed. She closed her eyes, unable to get the memory of seeing her boss smiling or that wink...  
Or the way that simple gesture had made her blush like a teenager with a crush on the captain of the football team, leaving her flustered and a little hot.  
She curled her fingers into her pillow. "He was teasing me, not flirting," she sternly told herself. "Didn't mean a thing to him, probably. Like Watson yesterday."  
She knew she was lying to herself. Vincent Stevens was nothing like Derek Watson. The wink Watson had given her had made her skin crawl and her stomach churn, and not in a good way, either. But Vincent's wink...  
Vincent's wink left her feeling vulnerable, raw, exposed, unsettled in a way that was frightening.  
Frightening because before she’d laid eyes on Vincent Stevens, she’d never felt one tiny ounce of sexual attraction to a man before.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a heart-to-heart with her cousin and nearly has a moment with Vincent...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for being a little behind with an update, my muse disappeared for a bit (er, my muse led me to another Karl Urban character for a short story). Anyway here is Chapter 5. I'm not happy with it, I struggled with how to write it, what direction to take.

"Kenna, what am I going to do?" Sam curled up on her cousin's sofa with a half pint of cheesecake brownie surprise ice cream.  
Kenna grabbed a spoon and dug into her monster cookie ice cream. "My heart is yelling at me to kick your ass for even thinking of your boss like that," she admitted after taking a bite of her dessert. "But my brain is telling me you've reached the next step in your healing process."  
Sam shoved her spoon into the chocolate dessert she held. "Ten years, Ken... Ten years and I'm still processing, I'm still healing."  
"Everyone heals at their own pace," her cousin reached over to rub the brunette's shoulder. "Maybe..."  
She shook her head. "Nope, not going back to therapy," she toyed with the spoon. "It's bad enough I missed a day and a half of work, I'm not about to dive right back in and miss an hour or two a week. I really don't want to have to explain to Mr. Stevens why I'm needing a longer lunch, or even lie about it. That man has a serious Bullshit Radar."  
Kenna snorted. "Considering his pa--"  
Sam held up her hand to stop her cousin. "Don't go there, Ken," she warned softly. "And don't even try to compare his past indiscretions to what Terrance did to me. He's nothing like that monster. I was not a willing participant."  
"No, you weren't," the blonde set her ice cream on the coffee table and leaned over to hug the other woman. "I just don't want to see you hurt, Sam."  
Sam nodded as she leaned into her cousin's embrace. "I just want to feel normal," her voice was muffled in Kenna's shoulder. "I don't want to be frightened of being turned on by a wink or a smile or the way he loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves. I don't want to wake up crying from a dream about him." She pulled back to wipe at the tears burning her eyes. "I don't want to be afraid of how I feel for him, Ken. But I can't... I don't know what to do."  
"First, we're going to eat our ice cream before it melts," Kenna squeezed her shoulders. "Tomorrow we'll get our hair done, get a tattoo," she grinned when Sam perked up. "Ink therapy helps. Maybe a new outfit or two for work."  
Sam pursed her lips at that. "Not sure how that'll help."  
"New outfits make us feel better," she shrugged. "But there is one thing that might work, if you're willing to give it a go."  
The brunette looked up from her ice cream. "What? Ken, this better not be something crazy like getting body parts pierced."  
Kenna chuckled, scrunching up her face. "Nope, no way in hell. Just my ears and nose. No," she sobered up. "My boss' sister runs a support group out of her basement on Saturday afternoons for warriors. I'd really like to take you to a meeting. Just one, if you don't think it's the right fit for you, no pressure to keep going back."  
Sam frowned at her. "I don't do group therapy."  
"It's not actually therapy, just a group of people who've been through a similar hell sharing their experiences and helping each other. I've gone a couple of times just to get a feel for it, they're a great group. Just give it a shot, one shot, and if you don't like it I won't bring it up again," Kenna turned back to her ice cream. "Dammit, now I want cream cheese brownies."  
Sam giggled. "I know a great bakery, we can swing by tomorrow. I need to place an order for a meeting on Tuesday anyway."  
"You really love your job," the blonde smiled. "Or you're just a workaholic."  
She grinned. "Not a workaholic, I really do love my job. I'm happy there."  
"That's all that matters," Kenna said before popping another spoonful of her ice cream into her mouth. "So, are we on for tomorrow?"  
Sam nodded. "Yes."

September 25, 2016-- Kenna talked me into going to a support group meeting this afternoon. I didn't want to go but at the same time I'm sick and tired of losing sleep over nightmares and strange dreams about Vincent. I didn't talk at the meeting, I just sat back and observed and listened. There were two girls and a boy in the group. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. The ages I'd been when...   
It was all I could do to keep it together, to not cry or scream or rage. The others in the group shared their recent nightmares, their fears, their dreams. One felt like she was ready to move on and take that next step with her boyfriend, but was scared to death at the same time. She talked about how she chickened out several times going to Victoria's Secret until her sister offered to go with her.  
I know deep down that this is something I need to do for myself but I don't think I can rehash everything all over again. Maybe I'll go again, since they meet on Saturday afternoons. It's an odd time to meet, I guess. It makes sense, it's not interfering with work or extracurricular activities, and it's early enough in the afternoon that it doesn't interfere with any family time.   
I just want my life back. I just want to be able to go somewhere and not be afraid of a man looking at me or commenting on my looks. I want to be able to have the guts to stand up for myself at a work meeting (I haven't had to worry about that since that first one, Vincent put them in their places for questioning my knowledge). I want to be able to look a man in the eye and not want to throw up if I see something that scares me. I want to be able to wake up from a dream and not cry because it was a good dream. The kind of dream women should be happy to have. Even if that dream is about their boss. Like the dreams I've been having of Vincent ever since Tuesday when he brought me home.  
I'm scared of what those dreams mean. I started to keep a separate journal just for those dreams. They scare me, they unsettle me, but they are nothing like the nightmares of what I had survived. These dreams, the ones about Vincent, leave me feeling torn in two. A simple touch of his hand at the small of my back when he walks me to my car at the end of the day. The stroke of his fingers against mine when he takes something I'm handing him. A hand on my shoulder when I'm pointing something out on a blueprint and he's leaning over me to take a look. Last night the dream was different. Very different. We were laying on the couch in his office, him leaning over me. He had my hand in his, resting over my heart and he was brushing his free hand over my hair and looking into my eyes with the softest eyes I've ever seen. The thing that stood out the most about the dream was his bare shoulders and the blanket over us. Nothing happened in the dream.   
I was happy in that dream, too. I think that's what scared me the most about it. Feeling happy and safe in the dream and waking up crying because it was just a dream. Then freaking out because it was about my boss. I don't know what to do...

Sam frowned as she drummed her fingers lightly over the keyboard. "Mr. Stevens?"  
"You know you can call me Vincent," he responded.  
She leaned forward so she could look through his door. "I have an email from a Douglas Anderson regarding a meeting at one, but there's nothing on the schedule until Thursday." She saw his shoulders stiffen before he slowly turned to look at her.  
"Sonofabitch, I forgot to put it on the calendar," he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I scheduled it Tuesday afternoon. Lunch meeting. God dammit," he shoved his fingers through his hair. "There's no time to reschedule, I've got site visits this week and I need to get that damned blueprint done--"  
"You won't need to reschedule," Sam pushed away from her desk and walked to the doorway separating their spaces. "How many people are you expecting?"  
"Six. I don't have anything ready, Monroe," he sighed heavily. "No reports, no outline, nothing."  
"Give me something to work with, Mr-- Vincent," she braced her hand on the door frame. "I'll call in an order to the sub shop and the bakery now and get the conference room set up. Once you get me the information I need I'll get the packets put together." She walked into his office and picked up his coffee mug. "You need a break from your design, you've been grumbling over it for an hour and your coffee is cold."  
"There's not enough time, Monroe," he watched her as she headed to the bathroom to pour out the cold coffee and rinse the cup. "There's no way--"  
She leveled a glare at him from the bathroom door. "I'll have you know I've pulled miracles out of thin air before, Mr. Stevens. We will be ready in time for that meeting." She made quick work of fixing a fresh cup of coffee the way he liked it before fetching the emergency bottle of bourbon from the cabinet behind her desk. She hesitated before pouring a couple of fingers of the liquor. Sam glanced toward Vincent's office.  
He sat at his desk, head in his hands. "I never should've taken you home that day, I thought I could handle it but clearly I can't," he griped to himself. "Couldn't concentrate once I got back because it was too damned quiet in here without your music."  
Sam shook her head as she grabbed a paper plate and dished up a cinnamon sugar sprinkled donut. Armed with the coffee and the treat she returned to Vincent's office. "I was actually pretty worthless Tuesday afternoon," she admitted as she set the food and drink on his desk. "I tried to do some work on the laptop and wound up falling asleep."  
"I figured you would," he looked at the donut. "I had one earlier."  
"Yes, key word being earlier," she nodded. "Eat up."  
He chuckled. "Do me a favor, will ya, Monroe?" He lifted his head when she started toward her office.  
Sam stopped at the door and looked over her shoulder. "That all depends on the favor."  
"Never quit," his hazel eyes locked with hers. "Don't you ever decide to quit on me."  
"I'm not planning on going anywhere," she shook her head. "Someday I hope to do what you do."  
"It's not an easy job," he groaned and shot a glare at the drawing table.   
"If I wanted an easy job I wouldn't be here," she countered before returning to her desk.

Three hours later Vincent walked into the conference room to find Sam setting out the wrapped sandwiches, bags of chips, and a container of chocolate chip cream cheese brownies. "Need any help?"   
She looked over her shoulder with a smile, "Nah, I got it, Boss."   
His pulse quickened at the sight of that bright smile. No, Stevens. "What kind of sandwiches did you order?" He tore his eyes from her to focus on setting his laptop up and connect it with the projector.   
"BLTs with ham, chicken, turkey or beef. Nothing fancy."  
"You order anything for yourself?"  
"Not a sandwich person," she grimaced. "Kenna's bringing me Chinese."  
His head snapped up. "That's rude. You know I love Chinese," the look he gave her was a cross between a glare and betrayal.  
"Don't worry, Vincent, I asked her to order something for you as well," she reached up to pat his shoulder on her way out of the conference room.  
He caught her small hand in his when she pulled away. "You're a lifesaver, Monroe, I hope you know that," he murmured when she looked back at him.  
A pretty pink blush colored her cheeks. "Just doing my job, Vincent."  
He shook his head, taking a small step forward. "A logical choice would have been to push the meeting to another day. You pulled this off with, what, three hours notice. Linda wouldn't have been able to do this, and God knows the others wouldn't have even tried. This... this isn't 'just doing your job', Sam. This was going above and beyond, and I don't know if I can thank you enough for saving my ass." His eyes dropped to her lips when she uttered a soft gasp.   
The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him and he forced himself to take a step back and release her hand.  
"You don't need to thank me," she slowly pulled her hand back.  
"Yes, I do," he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "I'm serious, Sam."  
"You can thank me later," she stepped forward and reached out to take his tie in her hands.  
Vincent held his breath when his heart kicked a little harder. When she straightened the knot in his tie he huffed out a nervous laugh.  
"Your tie was crooked," she stepped back. "And your hair's a mess. You don't need to give the contractors the wrong idea," she walked out of the room.  
He stared after her, stunned silent by that little comment and the sudden barrage of thoughts that flooded his mind. Thoughts he knew better than to have about her.   
Was she teasing him? Or was she warning him?  
"God, I need to fix this," he muttered before following her into the office. "Sam?"  
She turned to face him, her face a brighter pink. "I don't know why I said that," she apologized softly. "I..."  
"Don't apologize for teasing me," relief flooded through him when he realized she wasn't warning him, that he hadn't screwed up, that she hadn't read his damned mind. "You shocked me, certainly never expected you to say something like that to me."  
She giggled. "I surprised myself," she pulled her chair back and sat down. "I normally don't pop off like that."  
He walked into the bathroom to fix his hair. "It's all right, Sam," he chuckled. "I wouldn't let them think anything like that about you anyway."  
He doubted anyone would believe that anyway, not when her clothes weren't wrinkled, makeup not smudged, hair not tangled. "Don't go there, Stevens," he warned himself, bracing his hands on the sink and glaring at his reflection. "Don't want to lose her."


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since he nearly kissed her in the conference room, Vincent has been having dreams about Sam. Dreams he knows he has no business having. It's making work difficult for him as he knows he needs to behave, he knows he's not good enough for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, our dear Vincent is really struggling now!   
> Warnings: sex dreams, masturbation, and yes, he's walking around his loft naked after that shower.

Vincent groaned into his pillow after glancing at the alarm clock. Three twenty-six in the morning and he was wide awake.  
He blamed the dream. Jesus Christ, did he blame the dream.  
The same dream he'd had every night since he'd nearly kissed Sam in the conference room. When she had straightened his tie and told him she didn't want anyone to get the wrong impression because he was a rumpled mess.  
He rolled onto his back and tossed the covers off. "She's off-limits, Stevens," he muttered as he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Too good for an asshole like you, you'd only ruin her."  
He slipped out of bed and stalked across the loft to the bathroom. He screwed his eyes shut when he flipped on the light, the sudden brightness burning. "She deserves better."  
Deserves better than a man pushing forty with a history of womanizing and cheating. A man who had been arrested for murder. A man paying dearly in alimony and child support with strict and limited visitation with his children. A man who had fought and struggled and clawed his way back from rock bottom to keep his company afloat.  
He squinted his eyes as he opened them, locking onto the shadowed eyes in the mirror. "She's too young for me anyway," he sighed heavily before turning toward the shower and turning it on. He adjusted it to the coldest temperature he could stand and stripped out of his blue and grey plaid pajama bottoms. His erection, brought on by the damned erotic dream, throbbed against his abdomen. He glared at it. "Cold showers at three thirty in the god damned morning are not my idea of fun," he muttered before stepping into the shower. He bit back a yelp as the stream of cold water hit his skin.   
Vincent ducked his head under the icy spray, welcoming the shock and hoping it would kill his raging desire so he would not have to deal with it himself. In the past it never bothered him to jack off in the shower. Back then he hadn't given a damn. But now?  
Now he felt dirty. He felt disgusted any time he had to bring himself to completion after dreaming about making love (not fucking, not screwing, not banging, making slow, sweet love) to Sam in his office or on the damned conference table. But the cold shower was not helping kill the lust. With a growl he soaped up his hands before curling his fingers around his aching manhood and thinking of anyone but Sam. But all he could see was his beautiful, efficient, brilliant assistant reaching up to straighten his damned tie. One hand curling around the tie at his chest, the other sliding up to the knot, her brow furrowed in concentration, full bottom lip trapped in her teeth, big grey eyes shyly meeting his.  
Fuck.  
Vincent leaned back against the cold ceramic tiles of the shower, swearing a blue streak as he struggled to regain his breath. He reached over and turned the shower off. He stood there a few minutes more before stepping out onto the plush bath mat and grabbing a towel to dry off with. He tossed it angrily toward the hamper as he stalked out of the bathroom.  
He grabbed his bottle of bourbon and a tumbler. The drink he poured he knocked back quickly. "Dammit," he muttered. He poured another drink. With a frown he filled the tumbler nearly to the brim.  
Vincent knew bourbon was not the answer to his problem. But he drank it anyway. He chugged the generous glass and poured another to take to bed. As he set the tumbler on the nightstand he glanced at the alarm clock. 3:42. "Hell," he muttered. His alarm was set for six, and he was wide awake.  
And hungry.   
Most men would fall asleep after a damned good orgasm, whether resulting from sex or masturbation. He never did. Maybe it was years of cheating on Barb and not wanting to risk falling asleep and wind up getting busted, maybe he was wired different. But he always wound up hungry.  
He made his way back to the kitchen to scope out the contents of the refrigerator and grinned when he saw the takeout container from yesterday's, no, the day before's, lunch. Sam had ordered extra Chinese when he'd commented about possibly working late to work on that damned park design he'd been struggling with. "Still struggling with the damned thing, too," he grabbed the container and popped it in the microwave.   
He scrubbed his right hand over his face as he waited for the food to heat up. But he could not get the images from that dream out of his head. Wide grey eyes behind those glasses she always wore. Soft pink blush on her cheeks. Plump kissable lips. Silky dark hair he longed to tunnel his fingers into as he kissed her senseless or marked up her neck. Elegant fingers he wanted to entwine with his as he made slow, sweet love to her. Long legs he wanted wrapped around his hips as he drove into her over and over again.  
The tattoo on her shoulder he'd caught a glimpse of months ago. The memory of the sudden desire to touch, to taste washed over him. He knew about the feather tattooed on the inside of her left wrist and the flower tattooed just behind her right ear on her neck. She had told him it was simblemyne from Lord of the Rings when he had asked about it.   
"God dammit," he sighed heavily. He had never had a thing for tattoos on a woman before, hadn't cared one way or another. But on Sam... Jesus Christ did he want to trace his tongue and fingers over each one. And he wondered if she had more.  
He closed his eyes. "Get a grip, Stevens," he growled. "It's been a long week already, don't make it any more difficult."

He was a tired, cranky mess when he made it to the office a few hours later. Sleep had evaded him when he'd crawled back into bed, even with a full belly and a fourth glass of bourbon. How he wasn't drunk before eight in the morning was a mystery to him, one he hoped to never have to repeat.  
Thank god it was Friday.  
Vincent damn near dropped his coffee when he opened the door to the office and spotted his assistant at the window with her back to the door wearing something she had never worn before.  
She was dressed in a soft dove grey sweater dress, loose-fitting and hitting at mid-thigh, paired with black tights and knee-high grey boots. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the crown of her head, exposing that damned delectable simblemyne tattoo. He was accustomed to leggings paired with tee-shirts and flowy cardigans or sweaters, or fitted slacks and button-down blouses. But a dress? When he'd overheard her tell Linda she hated dresses?  
She turned to face him when he pushed the door shut. "You're..." She trailed off when she took in the bags under his eyes. "Vincent, are you okay?"  
"My turn for a sleepless night," he gave her a tired grin. "Don't even think about sending me home, I've got to knuckle down on that damned park design if I'm going to present it next week to the city."  
"The one you've been struggling with?"  
He snorted as he made his way to his office. "Landscaping is not my forte, Sam," he admitted. "I wanted to branch out and now I'm sorely regretting it."  
"Maybe I could help?"  
He stopped in the doorway separating the offices. Did I hear her correctly?  
"Or not, don't listen to me."  
He frowned when he caught the defeated tone in her voice. That's not the Sam Monroe I know, he thought. "You want to do what I do," he turned to face her. "You want to become an architect."  
She nodded. "It's been a longtime dream of mine."  
"You know anything about landscaping?"  
"A little," she shrugged. "I designed a butterfly garden for Mom's office building and worked with a group on a class project to design a memorial park at the university I attended."  
Vincent walked over to stand beside her. He took her shoulder in his free hand and turned her back to the window. "Remember the city block you pointed out the day I interviewed you?" He dropped his hand when he felt her shudder. Don't overstep your boundaries, Stevens.  
She looked up at him. "Yes."  
"This is no small butterfly garden or memorial park, Sam. This is something for families to enjoy together. Think Central Park, but smaller."  
"I've never been to New York," she admitted quietly.   
He gave her an incredulous look. "Next conference I go to in New York, you're going with me."  
"That's not necessary," she shook her head, tearing her eyes from his. "What would I do in New York while you're attending the conference?"  
"Suffer through the boring crap with me, tour the architectural wonders, stroll through Central Park, eat at a five star restaurant and take in a show on Broadway."  
"If the conferences are boring, why bother going?"   
"It's good exposure," Vincent shrugged. "You learn about new things, new areas of study and certification, new technology for designing blueprints."  
"I don't see you using computer programs to design buildings," she wrinkled her nose.   
"There's something magical about drawing up the designs by hand," he tipped his head toward her. "Computers take the fun out of it. They make the mind weak by taking out all the guesswork and calculating everything for you. Don't ever rely on those programs, Sam."  
She nodded.   
"What's my schedule like today?" He asked as he headed to his office.  
"Site visit after lunch, Jennings Street apartment complex."  
"You ever visit a project site before?"  
"No, sir."  
His coffee cup thunked onto his desk.  
Sir.   
She just had to call him "sir".  
He fumbled to keep the to-go cup from tipping over, inwardly cursing himself at the mental images popping into his head unbidden.   
"Vincent?"  
"You want to come with me this afternoon?"  
He screwed his eyes shut and grimaced at his ill-worded question and husky tone, glad he still had his back to the door.   
"I'm hardly dressed for a visit to a construction site."  
"What you've got on is fine, Monroe."  
More than fine, his brain added quite unhelpfully. Sexy. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.  
"It's fodder for construction workers," there was that hesitation in her voice, a tone of self-doubt he'd never heard before.  
"You'll be with me the entire time, Sam, if anyone says anything out of line or looks at you wrong I will take care of it," he turned to face her. "I won't tolerate anyone crossing any lines with you."  
Her grey eyes widened behind her glasses. "I could always run home and change during my lunch break..."  
"Sweetheart, it won't matter," he shook his head. "They'll stare, they'll say something, and I promise you they'll get their asses handed to them."  
"I don't want to cause any issues--"  
He chuckled. "Oh, you will," he hung up his jacket and dropped into his chair behind the desk. "Woman on a construction site usually does. Don't let them get to you. Don't pay them any mind, but if they say something put them in their place and tell me."  
Her brow furrowed. "Okay, but I'd feel more comfortable if I can go home to change."  
He could not argue with her point. "All right. I'm going to start working on that damned design in about fifteen minutes if you want to help."  
Sam smiled, "Thank you, Vincent."  
"I should be thanking you, Sam," he smiled back.

"What about a koi pond?"  
Vincent looked up from noting a playground on the paper in front of him. "Koi pond?"  
She nodded. "Kids love watching koi fish," she frowned thoughtfully. "The nursing home where my grandpa was has a koi pond in front of the Hollywood wing. When they remodeled the vestibule they put in a section of 'glass' floor to watch the fish swim under it," she hooked her fingers in air quotes. "It's pretty neat, but they scare the hell out of me. Kenna still teases me about refusing to use the main entrance. Any time I went to see Grampa I had to be buzzed in from the patio."  
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling and to refrain from reassuring her those floors, if installed correctly, were perfectly safe. "You mentioned designing a butterfly garden earlier. What if we included one in the design?" He studied the rough layout he'd mocked up before sliding his hand along the paper to tap a blank area. "Maybe over here away from the playground."  
Sam caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it as she swiveled on the stool, angling her body toward him. "I was thinking of a pavilion around here, for outdoor weddings," she murmured before immediately flinching. "If... If that's okay with you?"  
He frowned at the way she flinched like she was expecting to be slapped. "Jot it down," he slowly reached across her to pick up her discarded pencil. "Sam, your ideas for this park are brilliant. I've been procrastinating on this for weeks, and here you've bounced several excellent suggestions off of me in..." he glanced at his watch as he straightened from his slouch over the drawing table, "three hours. Let's take a break for lunch and come back to this after the site visit. How's that sound?"  
She looked up at him. "You really think my ideas are brilliant?"  
Oh damn.  
That shy smile bowing her lips tugged at his heart.   
"No," he shook his head. "I know they're brilliant." He tapped the paper. "Make note of the other ideas you mentioned off to the side until we can figure out where to work them in. And for future reference, keep a notebook available to write down any ideas you might get at random times. Trust me, I've been in the damned grocery store more than once when a thought would pop into my head. You wouldn't think a package of chicken breasts would inspire an arched entryway."  
Sam giggled at that as she jotted her ideas down. "And just how did they inspire it?"  
He chuckled. "My kids were going to spend the weekend with me. Figured I'd get the ingredients for a couple of their favorite meals. Kinzie, my little girl, likes this chicken breast and asparagus dish. I was standing there, trying to remember what else I needed when it just popped into my head how she'd told me one time she wished her school had arched doorways like a castle does, and I realized that would be better for the preschool design I'd bid on."  
Sam twisted the stool to face Vincent, her eyes wide behind her black-framed glasses. "Please tell me you included a moat and a tower in the design."  
He laughed. "No, I didn't, If Kinzie had her way it would've been an actual castle."  
"She sounds like she takes after you," she tipped her head toward his Castle Grayskull blueprint on the wall.   
"God, I hope she doesn't," he sighed heavily.   
The last thing he needed was for either of his kids to follow in his damned footsteps.  
He shook off that frightening thought before pasting on a tired smile for Sam's benefit. "I'll grab us some lunch so you don't have to rush. Romeo's sound good?"  
"I've been wanting to try their cauliflower risotto and parmesan crusted chicken breast," she nodded. "Would it be too much to ask for cheesecake? Their blackberry swirl cheesecake looks amazing."  
He smiled at the hopeful look in her grey eyes. "Anything else?"  
She shook her head. "No, that'll do me, Vin, thank you."  
His heart stuttered in his chest at that shortened version of his name. He watched her walk out of his office.  
I'm in trouble.


End file.
